Butterfly Weeds
by AmaliaRose
Summary: "Butterfly weeds are the most tragic flower... They mean 'Let me go'." Arthur is placed in a mental ward to help combat a stress disorder, meeting a few new friends along the way. Yaoi. PruUK, Franada, Spamano, RusAme, and GerIta. Trigger warning. (HIATUS: I'LL BE BACK SOON)
1. Robots?

Arthur sighed; this was the last place he wanted to be, quite honestly, but it had been made quite clear by his older brother, Cameron, that it was non-negotiable. _So what if I have a couple of quirks? Every bloody person does. Maybe I should admit him for his smoking habit._ The Brit thought snidely as he shifted from side to side in the cold, white waiting room. He glanced around and noticed with barely contained exasperation that it was a stereotypical mental ward; white walls, white furniture, employees in white uniforms, _white, white, white._

"Alrecht noo arthur, ye ken th' deal. Be guid an' gie better suin. Ah hiner tae hae ye haem quickly, okay?"

Arthur snapped out of his thoughts, blinking. _Oh.. He's talking._ He gave a sharp nod and refused his brother's hug, trying to ignore the look of hurt that crossed the older man's face. He watched the Scot exit the ward with an internal sigh. The blonde glanced up as a woman walked over to him with the fakest smile he'd ever seen on a person's face. _Is she… made of plastic?!_ He debated panicking as the scary woman came closer but decided against it. Without paying attention to a word she said, he simply followed her down a few hallways that all looked the same. The Brit nearly ran into her when they stopped in front of a door that looked like all the others… white and boring. He missed what she said as he thought about whether or not it might be a good idea to try and sneak out the back entrance of the building and escape as it occurred to him that she must be a robot and, therefore, this place must be overrun with the nasty things. Watching her walk away quickly, he blinked after her. _No… wait… I need you to repeat whatever it is you just said…_ But alas, the robot had gone to complete her next mission, for everyone knows that robots don't think for themselves. Or. At least, that's what the Brit decided. Cutting his losses, Arthur knocked on the door.

The door swung open to reveal a tall, sunny blonde holding a hamburger and a shorter blonde clutching a stuffed polar bear. _Ooookay then…_

"Ahm… Hello. I'm Ar-" He was cut off as the taller blonde dragged him into the room, talking so loudly and quickly that Arthur was both sure his ear drums were about to blown out and unable to hear a word he was saying.

"… So, what's your name?!" The excitable American asked eyes wide and much too close for Arthur's liking.

" … Arthur." The Brit spit out as he shoved the over-grown puppy away. _Tch. It figured I'm stuck with him as a roommate… Why would I get a normal person in a mental ward anyway? What the hell was I expecting?_

"Cool! I'm Alfred! And this is my bro, Matty!" He gestured widely to the smaller, shy looking boy with violet eyes, not at all perturbed that he'd just been literally shoved away.

"You can call me Matt or Mathieu… Please… Merci." Mathieu said in a small voice, and Arthur could just barely pick up a hint of a Canadian accent in his speech.

"So! You're my new roommate, huh? Awesome! I've been totally swamped being here alone! I've had to smuggle Matty here into my room every night since my old roomie left!" Alfred chattered. Arthur let the boy talk, just as it seemed his brother was and tuned him out, staring into a space right beside the odd cowlick on his head and feigning interest.


	2. Humans don't bite

Alfred F. Jones was on a mission. Not just any mission; a mission within a mission. He smiled to himself. _Damn! This is so cool! _He thought to himself as he threw open the door to his bedroom. "Alright Artie-!"

"I told you not to call me that!" The grumpy Brit interrupted.

"-It's time to get you out of our room! Seriously dude, you're totally depressing the place! I didn't even know people could grow mushrooms…!" He teased, pulling at a very stubborn and irritated-looking Arthur. The boy hadn't made any attempt to remove himself from the armchair in their bedroom since he'd gotten there—even for food (Which, in Alfred's opinion, was most certainly a crime.)! The smaller blonde simply rolled his eyes and went back to watching out the window, a sulky expression on his face. The American sighed and tugged again, whining, "Pleeeeease?" He begged, his voice whiny; Arthur twitched, the noise irritating his ears.

"Shut it you wanker! I told you I don't want any lunch!" Huffing and flipping his wispy blonde hair into his eyes, the Brit turned from the American.

"The orderlies will come get ya if you don't. The only reason you got to skip your meals yesterday is because they're trying to let ya adjust. But dude, they have a twenty four hour rule—no exceptions!" He mimicked the plastic lady's voice.

"… Okay." The Brit nodded, "I'll come. But don't expect anything from me." He snapped in an off-handed tone. Alfred hummed, unaffected, beside him as they left.

When they arrived down in the dining hall, Alfred was greeted by a series of reactions that ranged from excitable and loud to quiet nods of acknowledgement, "Alright guys! This is that roommate I was telling you about! His name's Arthur and he's British! Isn't he great?!" The rowdy American exclaimed.

And equally rowdy, silver-haired, crimson eyed teen stood up and yelled out, "He's probably not as awesome as me zough! I'm from Prussia!" A stern, tall blonde gently knocked the back of his head and looked at Arthur apologetically.

"Sorry about mein bruder." He said gruffly, "We're German… Not Prussian." He glared down at his sheepish-looking older brother, "I'm Ludwig und this is mein bruder, Gilbert." Arthur shifted from side to side uneasily. _I really should have changed clothes before I came down… I must look a mess and my hair is probably a complete disaster…_ He thought self consciously, eyes studying the ground.

"'S alright." He mumbled, trying to avoid eye contact, "Nice to meet you both." He nodded faintly in their general direction. Gilbert, it seemed, took it upon himself to introduce the rest of the gang, wrapping an arm around Arthur's shoulders. The blonde pulled away harshly, but the 'Prussian' continued, unperturbed.

"Ja, ja! Zis is mein freunde, Francis und mein ozer freunde, Antonio!" The Frenchman winked and blew a kiss in Arthur's direction, whilst the Spaniard waved animatedly. Arthur just nodded at both, "Zese two are Feli und Lovi, ze ozer twins!" One Italian waved happily while the other rolled his eyes; Arthur was unsure of which was which, "Und you already know Birdie und Alfred!" The taller man grinned, crimson eyes twinkling, "Welcome to ze mad house!"

Well wasn't that reassuring?

A few minutes later, Arthur was surprised to find he was still just fine. It turned out that contact with other human beings didn't cause him to violently explode, Alfred happily noted. The tallest blonde got up to grab another drink when something—or rather, someone—caught his attention. The American's blue eyes wandered to the doorway, where a really tall, silver haired, lilac-eyed man was standing. Studying him, Alfred noticed that his shoulders were broad and he was well-muscled. He started when their eyes met and bit his lip… just in time to run right into the condiments cart.

"Tsk.. ouch, dammit!" The blonde complained, rubbing his hip where he'd knocked into the cart. He glanced back over to see that the mysterious new man was gone, much to his disappointment. Sighing, he turned around—running right into the person he'd been looking for, "O-Oh! Dammit!"

The tall silverette offered a small smile, "You should really stop running into thing, da?" He asked, his voice holding a heavy Russian accent. Alfred's eyes widened and he blushed, glancing away for a moment and he studied the pretty, light purple eyes in front of him. They looked sad and broken and it made Alfred want to reach out and hold the taller man.

" A-Ah… Yeah. Heh…" He grinned and rubbed his neck sheepishly, blinking up, "I'm Alfred F. Jones! And you are?" His bubbly personality came back full force, trying to cover his embarrassment.

"Ivan Braginski." The Russian said, a sly smirk working on his lips, "I've got to go now… But I'll be seeing you again." The words were almost like a promise—and Alfred believed them.


End file.
